Du hasst Mich
by Takhira
Summary: Vincent visits the Highwind residence and recovers from more than just a broken arm.
1. Chapter 1

"What? What?" Cid complained at the knock at the door. "I thought I told everybody I don't officially get up until noon. This had better not be about religion—" He opened the door and stood there, disheveled, unshaven, and stunned. The first two were hardly unusual for him. The third, however, was very hard to manage, especially before Cid's third cigarette. "VINCE!"

"Hi," Vincent managed. "I told you I'd come back."

"I thought you just meant for birthdays and—what's behind your back?"

"Um, my arm."

"Don't get smart with me." Cid grumbled, throwing the door wide open for Vincent to come in. "Since when did you turn sarcastic?"

"No, I mean… my arm…" Vincent said, wincing in anticipation for Cid's reaction as he took his arms from behind his back and stepped in the house. Half of his metal prosthetic was connected to his arm, where it belonged. The other half was in his right hand, where, as anyone could surmise, it didn't belong. "I was kinda hoping you could fix it."

Cid sighed. "Well, it's a good thing you came to me right away."

"…"

"You didn't. Vince, how the fuck long have you--? Never mind, forget it, I don't want to know. It's too early for this."

"I… really wanted to finish what I was doing," Vincent said, setting the mechanical hand on the table.

"Ah, I've done that," Cid said, sitting down, as did Vincent. He's spent way too much energy and effort and time just to keep Vince from destroying a bed every night because of his nightmares, let alone proving that he really did like him. He was not going to ruin things with a stupid fight. Especially now that Vincent had finally come back to him. "Spent an entire day fixing an engine on a sprained ankle. So, what happened?" he asked, glad Vincent was back.

"There was an explosion."

"What exploded?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why'd it explode?"

"I'm not sure about that either."

"Where the fuck were you?"

"Vincent!" The two looked at the doorway, to see Shera, struggling with a bunch of groceries, even though she'd dropped half on the floor half a second ago. "Your—your—your… back."

"'Course he's back," Cid said proudly, getting up and taking most of the grocery bags from her. "He'd better not be leaving anytime soon, though."

"I'm not. Don't worry. Can I help?"

"Sure. I have no clue where half this stuff goes," Cid said.


	2. Chapter 2

It had hardly been a day after the defeat of Sephiroth; the real, true defeat, and a guarantee that he wasn't coming back.

Everyone else wanted to get back home. Cid had an evening involving vodka, his bed, and Vincent planned and he'd been planning on it for some time.

"Hey Vince?" Cid asked happily, poking his head into the room. "Check your materia, I just dropped off Yuffie."

"I got it all, thanks," Vincent had replied, closing his pack shut.

"You're not going somewhere, are you?" Cid asked, the cheer leaving his voice as he noticed Vincent packing.

"I can't stay."

"But we talked about this, Vince. I even called Shera and she—"

"I know, Cid," Vincent had replied, putting his pack on his shoulder. He had everything ready to go wandering off on his own, and it had scared Cid. "But I have to do this first."

"What do you mean by 'this?' What are you fucking talking about?"

"I can't tell you," Vincent said, putting a hand around Cid's face.

"Where are you going, then?"

"I can't tell you that either. Now, get out of the doorway."

"Wait a minute," Cid said as Vincent kissed his forehead and gently pushed him aside. "You had better as hell not be doing what I think you're doing!"

"I'm not going to kill myself," Vincent said, surprisingly calmly as he walked around the airship. "I'm coming back."

"Promise?"

"I promise you Cid," Vincent said turning around and he did something that Cid still considered uncommon for Vincent. He smiled. "I'm coming back." He turned around and started walking again.

"I'm going to hold you to that. You hear me? Vince…"

Vincent stopped in the doorway. "I wouldn't be coming back if it weren't for you, Cid. I don't know where I'd be going, but I wouldn't be coming back. Thank you." With that, he walked out the door and into the bright sunlight.

Cid didn't bother following. He stood there, wondering what to do next, and decided the first thing to do, now that Vincent was gone, was to have a cigarette.


	3. Chapter 3

Cid stared at the mechanical hand on the table and thanked his Bikini Goddess Vincent was right handed.

He'd promised Vincent it'd be easy, that he'd have it back in the morning. So far, all he'd managed to do was remove the case, brush some ash off, and accidentally cut himself on the sharp metal where it had been broken.

He exhaled, blowing a cloud of smoke from his nose on the offending prosthetic.

"I don't think that's going to fix it."

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"I never went to sleep," Vincent said, walking over to Cid.

"Bad habit."

"So's smoking,"

Cid shifted the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. "You want the long version or the short version."

"I'm not going anywhere. I can take the long version."

"Thing's fucked."

"What's the short version?"

"Sorry."

"Cid—"

"No, it's okay, it's still repairable. Sorta. Shera's better at this circuitry stuff than I am, she'll have to deal with it. It'll need a new casing. Most of the stuff at the edge is toast and will need to be replaced. And… and…"

"And?"

"Fuck it. Forget it, go back—go get some sleep."

"What is it, Cid?"

Cid sighed. Vincent didn't need this and he sure as hell didn't want to be the one to tell him. "You want it fixed, we'll need the other half."

Vincent said nothing.

"Thought so. Look, forget I said anything, we'll figure something out in the morning."

"Cid… isn't there some other way?"

"Vince, your arm isn't something I can just glue back together."

Neither one said anything for a long time. The only noise was the fridge groaning eerily.

"I need a cigarette. I'm sorry Vince. I know I promised you I'd have it fixed by morning and—Fuck, this has gotta be the worst thing to ask you now that you finally got back," Cid said, getting up from the table, not making eye contact.

"Cid--?"

Cid stopped and turned slowly.

Vincent gracelessly tore the borrowed T-shirt off himself, which left him in his boxers. "I need some help."

"Vince…" Cid managed, realizing Vincent was asking him to take the prosthetic off. He slept with it on. He showered with it on. Taking a deep breath and kicking the chair out of the way, he pulled Vincent to him. "Shit, Vince. Shit."

"I…" Vincent tried. He wrapped his good arm around Cid and sighed before trying again. "I… I already ripped a hole in my pants with this anyway."

"How many times have I told you to quit talking about things as if they're your fault?" Cid asked, keeping his arms around Vincent and kissing him on the cheek.

"I forget."

"Me too. Here. I'll help you get it off, if you'll go to bed," Cid said, letting go and gently turning Vincent around. He traced over the straps gently, trying to figure them out, hoping he could remember how to put them back on Vincent's shoulder.

Vincent flinched his shoulder away from being touched. "Only if you come too."

Cid stared at the straps and buckles, which looked more like a spiderweb every second. Not wanting to even look at it anymore, he grabbed Vincent again and put his face on Vincent's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I promise you—a real promise this time—you'll get it back."

"Cid, you're not—you don't-- You said you liked me, even with this arm. You're…"

"I'm not going to hate you with it off. I'm not going to like you any less."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry, Vince, I haven't a clue what I'm doing." It was true. Half the time he was with Vincent he wanted to beat the crap out of everyone who made Vincent feel so miserable and worthless. The other half the time he wondered what he was doing. He knew what to do if a plane went down. He knew how to fix a broken leg. Hell, he'd had a pretty clear idea of what the hell he was doing when fighting some experiment trying to take over the world. He had no clue what to do with emotions, though. He barely knew how to deal with his own emotions, outside of kicking things. How he managed to ever cheer Vincent up out of his gloom was beyond him. How he got the guy to reciprocate his feelings and accept comfort; that had to be a miracle. But Cid didn't believe in miracles. He believed in planes and rockets. How those would help his love life he had no idea.

"Just undo the buckles. I can't reach," Vincent whispered.

Cid took his arms and head away and carefully started undoing the contraption. Neither said anything when Vincent kept flinching

After the last strap fell away, Vincent reached over to his elbow to twist and pull the prosthetic off. Cid just stood there, trying to get his mind around Vincent's shoulder. He'd never seen it bare before. He thought Vincent's left shoulder without something over it wasn't possible. To him, the concept just didn't exist. He'd seen the straps the first time he admitted he liked Vincent. He'd tried to touch them when they first tried to be romantic. He'd seen them the first time they made love.

Cid was pulled back to reality when he heard Vincent almost hyperventilating.

"Give me a minute," Vincent said, before Cid could ask anything. Vincent wasn't calming down. He kept rubbing the stub of his arm that ended just above the elbow. The stub was covered over with the same gold metal as the mechanical part of his arm. Cid had always wonder how much of Vincent's arm was real, but never asked. He'd never cared about it enough.

Careful not to touch Vincent's shoulder or arm, Cid put a finger under Vincent's chin and gently turned his face towards him. "It doesn't make any fucking difference to me." Noticing Vincent's breathing slowly returning to normal, he grabbed the shirt and offered it to Vincent, who shook his head. "Come on, let's go to bed."


	4. Chapter 4

They'd parked the highwind for the night. Cid had enough trouble with Cloud deciding he wanted to steer, he wasn't about to have a sleep-deprived crew on top of it. Cid decided the only thing better than enjoying a cigarette and a beer in his own quarters of the ship was doing so without some goofy kid trying to drive his baby.

Someone knocked on his door.

"You can't drive and I don't have any materia!" Cid yelled. "I'm going to strangle those kids one 'a these days," he muttered.

The person at the door mumbled something he couldn't make out.

"I can't hear you!" Cid yelled. "And I'm not wearing any pants!" There. That should get rid of them.

"I said 'It's me,'" he heard.

Vincent. Shit. Cid jumped off the bed, nearly knocking his beer off the crates he used as a nightstand. He tore the door open.

"Shit, Vince. You look like… shit," Cid said. He'd been trying to get Vincent in his bed since they first bunked together and he ended up spilling the beans that he liked Vincent. Hell, getting him in bed in the purely literal sense was good enough... just not often enough.

He wanted whatever he could get from Vincent: a smile, holding hands. Going out and killing monsters over and over was good enough, as long as he was with Vincent. Anything other than moping was good enough.

Today had been the worst day ever, even without Cloud careening off mountains and driving sideways. They took a wrong turn looking for the key to the Temple of the Ancients. The waterfall had seemed innocuous enough.

Since they left, Vincent had been distant and quiet. He hadn't paid attention to anything but battle. After he hit his head on the doorway of the submarine and not noticed, Cloud had left him on the plane and taken Tifa with him instead.

"You gonna be okay?" Cid asked, tracing a finger down Vincent's wet cheek. Vincent hadn't bothered trying to wipe away his tears. He probably wasn't even aware that it would have been pointless. His eyes were bloodshot, making them more red than usual. The skin under his eyes was red and puffy. The ribbon in his hair was proving a crappy bandage over the bruise he'd gotten from not paying attention in the sub.

Without saying a word, Vincent half lunged, half collapsed onto Cid, immediately sobbing on his shoulder.

Having no idea what else to do, Cid just wrapped his arms around Vincent as tight was he could. He didn't want anything to come near Vincent and scare him ever again. He wanted to protect Vincent from everything. He wanted to keep him from ever seeing Hojo again. He wanted to protect him from the dark and all the frightening images in his head. He wanted to keep him from ever seeing Lucrecia again.

They should never have gone in the cave. Vincent should never have met her. She should still be dead. She should have been something he could finally get over.

It wasn't fair. It was never fair. Vincent wouldn't warm up to anything and flinched when touched, no matter how or by whom. Now he'd never have him. He had promised Vincent he'd do anything. He'd be there for him and keep his secrets. But he'd always be just a friend. Just a friend who really liked Vincent and felt something inside of him shatter every time Vincent cried. He spent hours agonizing over the fact that he never had anything to say when Vincent moped and sulked on the plane. He felt guilty that he never knew what to do when Vincent refused to eat or sleep.

It was never fair. Now he was crying over Lucrecia. Every time Cid complained about hearing her name, Vincent said he'd never understand how he felt about her. He was as dense as Cloud sometimes. Cid couldn't get Vincent out of his head, constantly watched him, wished so hard he could have him and yet he was already attached to someone who didn't deserve him. How could Vincent accuse him of not understanding?

"She hates me." Vincent was finally speaking after the incident today and it had to be that. It had to be to him. He knew Cid loved him. At least, he obviously remembered Cid saying he did because he remembered Cid promising to do anything Vincent wanted. Ever.

"She doesn't hate you," Cid said, then winced at his words. How could he say that? Why did it have to sound so honest? Why did anything have to be about her?

"Come here," he said, glad he could manage one sentence that wasn't about Lucrecia. He kept one hand around Vincent's back, placed the other under his knees and carried Vincent, still crying, to the bed. "My legs are getting tired, that's all."

"Cid--?"

"Don't," Cid said, placing a hand on Vincent's cheek. He wished he could touch Vincent somewhere else. He wanted to trace those thin, trembling lips, undo that shirt and trace his hand over his chest; he wanted to touch Vincent everywhere, touch away the pain, the cold, the shivering, the memories. He just wanted it all gone. He'd sacrifice ever being intimate with Vincent if it meant he could just make him happy. Maybe even see him smile once. "Don't say anything, it'll be okay."

He had no clue where the words were coming from. The last time he'd talked to someone crying they'd slugged him.

"But—" Vincent tried again.

"Don't talk," Cid said, pulling Vincent onto his lap and leaning him against his chest. "You don't have to say anything." Ever.

He was answered by a loud sniffle and Vincent burying his head in Cid's chest, sobbing again.

There was nothing to do. There was never anything to do but sit and watch Vincent be Vincent and it was almost always painful. It was painful watching him stay so upset. It was painful never knowing how to help. It was so painful wanting him so badly and knowing how impossible it was.

Life was never fair.

All he could do was hold Vincent, just hold him. He'd always wanted to hold Vincent, but it wasn't the same. Not like this.

All he could do was hold him, rubbing hands that he knew were too rough up and down Vincent's back. All he could do was watch as Vincent pressed closer to him, and to put a hand on his head, looping it in the soft, tangled, black hair and stroke it.

He couldn't even think of what he'd wanted to do with Vincent now, he just wanted him to stop crying, stop caring about Lucrecia, stop thinking about anything but him.

After some long, heart wrenching hours, Cid slipped his finger gently through Vincent's hair one last time and smiled. He was finally asleep and Cid had finally realized it.

"You need to gain some weight," Cid whispered, undoing the buttons on Vincent's shirt, one by one. He eased the shirt off, taking care not to rip it on Vincent's prosthetic arm, all the while leaning Vincent against him.

He slipped Vincent's glove and shoes off, tossing each one quietly to the floor.

Cid gently set Vincent down on the bed, careful to keep the bruise on his head from touching anything.

After placing the blanket over Vincent, Cid got under the blanket himself, carefully getting as close as he could.

Almost meticulously, he slid his hand down Vincent's arm, down the metal joint, down the arm, and wrapped his fingers around Vincent's. Fuck mechanical. Fuck prosthetic. Cid would always see the metal arm as really being part of Vincent. Maybe even more than Vincent ever would.

Cid had dreamed of lying like this with Vincent, but it was different. They were supposed to be lying just like this, but the bed was messier, wetter. They were meant to make love until they were exhausted, then they'd just lie there and fall asleep, holding each other's hands. One day, like the one he dreamt of, Vincent would tell him how much of his arm was real. He'd tell Vincent he wanted to know where to stop kissing if Vincent answered.

Cid sighed and wrapped his other hand around Vincent's normal hand and laid his head on Vincent's shoulder.

Cid found out a long time ago the best excuse for this position, for being so close and holding both his hands, was that it kept the nightmares away. Whether he bought it or not, Vincent had asked to bunk with Cid more often, saying he was scared of tearing the bed to pieces just because he got scared in his sleep.

Soon he was fast asleep, though almost as uneasy as Vincent.

As loud as the pounding on the door was in the morning, they both woke gently.

"You okay?" Cid asked, his hands still wrapped around Vincent's

Vincent nodded weakly.

The pounding resumed. There was muffled yelling accompanying it now.

"I'll go tell them to piss off," Cid mumbled and started to get up, but Vincent pulled him back down.

"The door's locked. It won't open 'cept from the inside."

"Think they'll go away?"

"I don't care," Vincent whispered, cuddling close to Cid. Whether it was friendship or more, or just a way of saying thanks, Cid didn't care. He appreciated it, no matter what it meant.


	5. Chapter 5

Vincent groggily woke up to screaming. The clock said it was ten twenty-four. Last time he had looked at it, it had said five thirty-nine.

He had tried to sleep, but his arm kept him awake. It kept hurting all night, where it wasn't supposed to. He hated phantom sensations. The pain was only mild, and often it wasn't really pain at all, just the feel of his arm, the memory of his sleeve and his old watch and his hand when it twitched. The fact that he felt the sensations always got to him and he'd spent most of the night awake.

"What do you mean you want to upgrade it?" he heard Cid yell. Vincent rolled over, his face on the pillow. Ever since the Tiny Bronco had been shut down he had sworn to himself he would never get within ten feet of a Cid when he was yelling about his plane.

"Cid, the technology is thirty years old!" Shera yelled. That didn't sound like they were arguing about the plane.

"Of course it is!"

"Cid, I'd have to find a manual for this thing just to know what I'm doing!"

"So? They make manuals for everything these days."

"Cid, how are we going to replace out-of-date parts? Where are we going to find a manual on this thing? This would take more work than upgrading it!"

"I am not going to have you put a bunch of new shit in his arm!" Cid yelled.

Vincent sighed. That was his cue to get up.

"This thing isn't a computer Shera! You can't just add a bunch of… of… of doohickers on it every year. We aren't changing anything about it, we just gotta get it working again. Just fix the pieces that got burnt and I'll put it back together."

"Cid, the stuff that's been burnt is toast. I need to replace those parts, and if I'm going to replace parts, they should be stuff I'm used to. They should be modern parts. We can't just glue this back together! Cid, this guy is wandering around where stuff is exploding!"

"So? That's happened to me when I was working on the rocket. More than once, too."

"Cid, this is Vincent!"

"Of course it's Vincent!"

"Cid, he's just … just…" Shera stuttered, too frustrated to get the words out.

"I'm just what?" Vincent asked, leaning in the bedroom doorway, still dressed in just his boxers and secretly glad that he wasn't underdressed for the argument. Cid barely had his pants on and Shera's shirt was so big it was falling off her shoulder.

"Vincent, I—would you like some waffles?" Shera said, forcing a very large smile.

"I'm not a baby, Shera. A little name calling isn't going to kill me."

No one moved for the next three seconds.

"You're just… easily upset. That's all."

Vincent said nothing for a bit.

"Do whatever's easier for you. The simpler it is for you, Shera, the faster it'll get fixed." Vincent turned and disappeared into his room to get dressed.

"I'm sorry—" Shera started, but Cid put his hand on her shoulder.

"For Vincent, that's friendly. If he didn't like you he wouldn't say anything and close the door to go sulk."

"Cid, he worries me."

"You'll get used to him. Just leave him alone and he'll really like you."

"No, I mean my friends who are on diets eat more than he does."

"He'll be fine."

"I just don't want to share the house with a man who has a better hourglass figure than I do."


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, I said no angst in the house," Cid yelled, seeing Vincent sprawled out on the couch, looking miserable.

"I'm not angsting," Vincent whined. "I'm reading."

"You were on the same damn page when I left to drop off supplies at Wutai this morning."

"I don't care."

"Comic books?" Cid asked, trying to take the book out of Vincent's hands. "I didn't know you read comics."

"Cloud gave 'em to me," Vincent said, closing and putting the comic down as fast as he could, failing to keep Cid from glimpsing the car ad. So it was an old car. It was an old comic. He had been alive back then, old or not now. He could dream about a car, he'd been dreaming about Lucrecia and Hojo for thirty years, it was time for a change. Besides, the car didn't give him so many flashbacks. "My birthday, remember?"

"I don't remember the comic books," Cid commented, kissing Vincent on the lips. "But I remember your birthday."

Vincent rolled over and grumbled.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing" Vincent mumbled, his voice muffled with his face half buried in the couch

"I know that tone of voice," Cid said, and pulled Vincent back. That was the tone of voice Vincent used when he was thinking about Lucrecia and didn't want Cid to know. "Something's wrong, come on."

"I can't do anything around here and I've been here for a week. I'm useless."

"You're not useless, the house just isn't that high maintenance."

"No, I mean… I keep trying to help, but… everything requires two hands."

"You could fly with me when I deliver stuff."

"I don't want to just sit around. I want to help. I can't unload cargo. I can't help fly."

"You think you're useless? Come on, then," Cid said happily, picking Vincent up off the couch by his arm.

"Where are we going?"

"Were gonna fix the engine."

"But I don't know anythi—"

"Doesn't matter, I'll teach you."

"But I can't—"

"Hey, I fixed the plane when I had a broken arm. You'll be fine. I promise. And nothing's gonna fucking explode, either."

Two hours later, things weren't going at all according to plans, but no one was really complaining.

"Cid? You left the door wide o—oh," Sera said, entering after coming home from a long day in the work shed and finding her two housemates making out on the couch. Vincent, who was practically buried under Cid, managed to free his arm to wave at her as she came in. Cid's hands were under Vincent's shirt, which was half undone.

"I just cleaned that couch!"

Neither seemed to pay her any attention.

"Cid, I told you not to do that without moving the coffee table first."

Cid's foot kicked at the specified table, scooting it away, not bothering to break apart from Vincent.

"Didn't I tell you boys no shoes on the couch?"

Nothing happened, save for a few noises from Vincent.

"Whatever. I'm going to take a shower."

She walked out of the room. A few minutes later there was a thump as Vincent and Cid rolled off the couch, not letting a tiny thing like that stop them.


	7. Chapter 7

"Why did Cloud decide this was a nice hotel again?" Cid complained, stomping through the hallways of the haunted hotel. "I swear, I see one more goddamned skeleton I'm gonna kick him where the sun don't shine."

"…"

"Hey, Vince, you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Really. I'm fine," Vincent said, wishing he wasn't speaking so fast.

"Could you let go of my arm then? Those things pinch."

"Sorry," Vincent whispered, taking his arm away quickly and putting it behind his back. This was turning out to be a disaster. The whole place was a maze, darkly lit, full of skulls and ominous laughter that seemed to come from everywhere. Whoever had designed this place had never worked for Shinra; let alone been screwed over by them.

"You okay, Vincent?"

"I'm fine," Vincent managed, spinning around suddenly as something touched his shoulder and tripping over the skeleton prop. He must have set off some trigger on the floor.

"You're hyperventilating."

"I'm fine." Vincent said, shakily standing up. "Just leave me alone, I'm not a baby."

"I know you're not. But fuck, man, you weren't this tense when we pulled you outta that goddamned box."

"I must be so stupid, freaking about a place like this. I'm sorry."

"For what? I understand." Cid said, stopping at a T in the hallway. "What kind of jackass did you think I was? Here, you don't look so hot. Why don't you stay here for a bit and focus on not panicking. I'll go find our rooms and come get you."

Vincent nodded, practically hugging himself, and Cid walked down one of the halls.

Vincent looked around. Everything was pitch black. The hallways disappeared into darkness. He remembered the darkness, just like this. The room was always dark after Hojo left. He could see out the window in the door and the darkness just went on and on. No one was ever there in the dark. It was just him, all alone. Him and his own screams. The darkness meant Hojo wasn't there anymore. It had been comforting at first, but that meant he wasn't there to hear him screaming and crying from the pain. He was the only one who could make the pain go away, even if it required those damned needles.

The recording sounded again. Ominous laughter echoing through the halls. He was going to shoot whoever thought it was funny. As corny as it sounded, his mind kept remembering Hojo laughing at him in another room. He wouldn't shut up. He wouldn't leave. He would laugh so loud and so long he couldn't hear Vincent screaming at him. Or maybe that was why he laughed at him.

The recording wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. It was laughing at him. Hojo was laughing at him. It wouldn't stop.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. His chest was too tight.

The darkness was closing in on him. The walls were closing in on him. He was going to be locked in the dark again. He was going to be locked in the endless darkness again.

The laughter wouldn't stop.

He could hear footsteps. They were coming closer. He was coming back. Don't let him come back.

He'd be good. He'd never say anything again. He wouldn't try anything. Just don't come back. Just stay away and never come back. No more needles, no more IV's. No more pain. No more monsters. No more. No more.

No more nightmares. Please, no more nightmares. He'd already lost his arm. What other nightmares would he have, what else would he wake up to?

The pain. No more pain. No more nightmares, no more pain, leave me alone.

Vincent didn't feel it as he backed right into a wall, holding his mechanical wrist as if it were some monster trying to get at his face. He couldn't remember the dream. All this time, he could never remember the dream. Something that was never real at all, he had made it up all by himself, made him destroy his own arm. He couldn't remember what he had done. He couldn't remember the dream at all.

All he could remember was waking up; numb and so paralyzed he vomited on himself and couldn't move away from his own filth. He remembered the pain. There was pain too intense for the paralysis drug to cover up. He remembered sobbing as Hojo meticulously cleaned him up with the same care someone washes the dust off an old porcelain doll. He remembered the bandages. So many bandages. Every time they came off the wound was worse. It never got better. He never got to keep his arm.

It was all because of him. It was all because of a dream.

Hojo wouldn't tell him how it happened until he clung to his leg and refused to let go. Hojo had come in and found him chewing on his own arm, getting his own filth everywhere. He had been left alone with no one but himself when it happened.

The next time he ever moved his fingers, they were made of metal. Cold, hard, unfeeling metal.

He didn't want to be alone again. Not in the dark. Not while Hojo was laughing at him. Not again. Not again, ever.

Someone grabbed his arm. He screamed.

A gloved hand suddenly covered his mouth and he heard Cid swear.

He couldn't stop screaming. He kept screaming until they both thought he'd pass out.

"Just breathe, Vince," Cid said, taking his hand away and held Vincent as he struggled to gulp down air. He hoped he was doing the right thing. He had no fucking clue how to keep someone from having a panic attack. He just didn't want Vincent screaming like someone was trying to kill him.

Vincent hated crowds, so people trying to help him and possibly even needing an ambulance would have been worse than that. Right?

Vincent seemed about to give up on breathing because it took too much effort and was about to switch to crying.

Why did Vincent have to be so afraid NOW? The minute Vincent had asked if he wanted to go to their rooms he thought he'd jump on the man.

Maybe a distraction would work. "Hey Vince, were you hitting on me back there?"

Vincent was so surprised he stopped trying to breathe altogether.

Perfect. Highwind and is big, stupid mouth. Cid had always joked he wouldn't know subtlety if it bit him on the ass.

"Shit, come on, you have lungs, remember? Breathe, please."

Vincent went back to breathing. It was erratic and too fast, randomly alternating between too shallow and too deep. "I'm sorry," Vincent said, once his breathing started to resemble normal, after a few long minutes of trying not the hyperventilate and failing.

Yeah, that question had really helped.

"I didn't know I was talking like that, and I didn't know you'd notice. I guess I haven't forgotten what I was like thirty years ago. Please don't take offense, I… it slipped out."

"No problem," Cid said, part of his mind already forming plans. "Its mutual."

"But…"

"What, you didn't know?" Cid asked loudly, trying to keep Vincent distracted as he lead him down the hall. You're as dense as Cloud, sometimes."

"Sorry."

"For what? No, wait, I don't wanna fucking hear it. You just say that too much, Vince. Come on, I found my room." Cid let go of Vincent's arm and unlocked the door. "Well, come on."

Vincent didn't hear him. Once Cid let go of his hand Vincent looked up and saw the door.

Who could expect less of the Haunted hotel? The door was a large, ornate, beautifully carved and intricately decorated… coffin lid.

His chest hurt. Both arms were in pins and needles and shaking visibly. Everything was spinning. He felt dizzy and lightheaded. In fact, he didn't even feel real.

No coffin. No more coffin. Anything but that. He didn't want to dream anymore. He didn't want to remember anymore. He'd been punished. He'd learned his lesson.

He didn't want to be sealed away, locked away from the rest of the world. He didn't want to sleep through decades with nothing but nightmares as company. He didn't want to be alone.

Everything hurt. His legs wouldn't move, but he wanted to bolt so badly.

Not the coffin.

Anything but the coffin.

Please.

Someone grabbed his wrist and everything was suddenly a blur. He closed his eyes. It would all go away if he couldn't see it, it had to.

Suddenly Vincent tasted tobacco and, mildly, beer. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times.

It was real. Cid was kissing him, and it was real. Determined to finally enjoy something in his life, he put his hands around Cid's back and moaned softly as Cid's tongue slipped inside his mouth.

Pressing closer, he wondered when the last time was that he had ever felt like this. He could feel the tension practically melting off. He was no longer worried about how fast his heart was beating.

Just when he thought he was free, just when he thought nothing could bother him anymore, he was proven wrong.

He remembered. He remembered the last time he'd kissed, been kissed, had sex. He remembered that insidious grin, the glasses slipping off the bent nose, the strands of black hair falling out of the ponytail in front of his face. That face. That grinning, insincere, lying face.

That was the last person he had been with. That was the face of the person who took everything from him because it had been funny. Because it was there to take.

He remembered everything so clearly. No drugs blurred his vision or his memory. The worst part, though, was that nothing had forced him to do it. He'd heard his name, had felt something other than pain, and he liked it; he had been an idiot.

"I think I'm gonna be sick!" Vincent said, suddenly pushing Cid back so hard the pilot had to take a few steps to regain his balance.

"What? What'd I do?" Cid asked, utterly confused. "You were enjoying that five minutes ago."

"I can't… You didn't… I should leave."

"No fucking way!" Cid yelled, grabbed Vincent, and led him to the bed. "You practically had a heart attack out there! You couldn't get through the fucking door. No way am I letting you leave."

Vincent said nothing. He sat down and looked at his lap.

"Vince?"

"I'm sorry."

"I told you, stop saying that," Cid said, sitting next to Vincent. "Look, I'm not interested in hearing your life story, and frankly, I don't care. But this mopey shit stops now, you hear me? Now what the fuck's going on?"

"You… I don't want to talk about it."

"Look, I don't want to push it and I haven't before. But you can't finish a goddamned sentence."

"I don't know what to say," Vincent said. He'd ruined everything. Twice. He was stuck. There was no way out of his past, no escape. He'd never be free and he should stop trying.

What could he possibly say to Cid that wouldn't make things worse? Cid probably hated him now anyway, so why not just finish it? Why not just tell him? It was pointless to hope Cid could like him, so why not just say it and prove how utterly stupid and worthless he was? He'd probably tell the others and they'd all understand and stop pestering him.

"Try just saying something. Anything. One word, start with that," Cid said, putting a hand around Vincent's waist.

Cid braced himself to hear that goddamned woman's name again. He was already sick of it. She was dead and never coming back. How long did it take to get over someone who had treated him like dirt? Especially when there was someone else perfectly willing to screw his brains out and punch the snot out of anyone who even looked at him funny.

"Hojo," Vincent whispered, surprising Cid. "It was Hojo. That was… he…" Vincent took a deep breath and tried again. "The last person I was with was Hojo."

"Okay…" Cid started, then stopped and tried again. Hojo? Didn't he hate Hojo's guts? Why would Vincent… shit. "Look, it's nothing to feel guilty about."

"I don't feel guilty, I feel stupid!" Vincent yelled, shoving Cid's hand away from him and standing up. "There weren't even any drugs or… or anything forcing me. The one time I'm sober and not drooling from painkillers or whatever and… and I fall for a stupid trick. It was all a trick. It was all a trick and I can't get him out of my head. I'm an idiot."

Cid just stared and blinked, completely at a loss for words. This whole situation was way over his head.

"I did it willingly!" Vincent screamed, starting to sob.

Cid said nothing for a long time. He wished everything wasn't so complicated with Vincent. He wished he could have a cigarette. He wished Hojo hadn't ruined the one opportunity to finally get Vincent in the sack.

"I should go to my room, I'm sorry." Vincent wiped his face, no longer sobbing, but tears still fell down his face.

"Hey, you don't have to go anywhere. Stick around, I could use the company."

"Why aren't you mad?"

"I've had worse dates."

"Cid, I'm serious."

"I know. Frankly, I don't care and I don't see why I should. I mean, I'd really like to rearrange that guy's face, and probably make him sing soprano for the rest of his life, but that's it."

"You're not mad?"

"Not at you."

"Why aren't you mad?"

"Should I be?"

"Yes!" Vincent said. "No. I don't know."

"Look, you figure it out and I'll do whatever it is I'm supposed to do," Cid said, scratching his head. "In the meantime, I'm feeling pretty cheap. I mean, I wasn't thinking straight. With all the shit you've been through I still thought I could just jump ya. Fuck. I'm sorry."

"I can't… I couldn't do that. I couldn't just be a one night stand."

"I couldn't either."

"Huh?" Did Cid Highwind just say he wanted a meaningful relationship? That couldn't be possible. That just made less sense than what Vincent had just admitted.

"Well, when I first met ya, I would've fucking loved the idea. But now—I have no idea what the fuck it is about you, but I don't just want that. I want—I want—Goddamnit, Shera makes this look so easy when she's on the phone. I don't know what I want, but I know I wanna do whatever it is with you. Shit, now I sound like Barret."

"I don't know." Vincent sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I told you to stop fucking saying that. If there's something you should be sorry about, I'll tell you. And… And… Well, if you want anything, just ask. I won't mind, I promise."

"Cid…?"

"Yeah?" Cid asked, hoping for Vincent to say he liked him back, but not letting it show.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Sure." When this was over, he was going to have Shera explain to him how to talk about things. Even if it killed him. And it probably would, considering how boring it sounded. But then, dying of boredom seemed better than losing Vincent just because he hadn't watched enough soap operas.

"I need a shower," Vincent said, standing up.

"Hey, I'm not stopping you." Cid said, then winced. He was definitely going to learn how to talk to people he liked. He was just glad he didn't accidentally blurt out that he wanted to join him.

Vincent got into the shower as fast as possible and made sure the door was locked, despite the fact that he knew Cid wasn't going to wander in on him and the others were probably oblivious as to what had happened.

That didn't mean he was. Nothing like a panic attack to break the monotony of the day. And Cid just added to the confusion. How the fuck could anyone like him, let alone Cid? Maybe Cid paid less attention than he thought. He turned into monsters, who could ignore that?

He just sat around and sulked. Cid hated people spouting poetry.

He'd ruined everything for Cid. When he wasn't moping or thinking of Lucrecia, he was having an attack or ruining any chance Cid got. He couldn't stand Cid kissing him because it reminded him of Hojo. What an insult that must have been.

He wasn't even that good looking. Even if Cid liked him with his metal arm—how or why was completely beyond Vincent—he was still ugly. He was too skinny; his eyes were unnatural and so saturated with Mako they probably glowed in the dark. Then there were those ugly scars. White lines outlined in pink on his skin. If Cid didn't care, he sure did. He hated them. He should have died. He wished he had.

He decided to just stop thinking about anything at all except the warm water rushing down his skin, thankful the brace was just as waterproof as the rest of the prosthetic.

After using up all the hot water, Vincent came out of the bathroom and was greeted by a note on the nightstand. It was from Cid, saying he had gone to get a cigarette and hated the hotel for not having a smoking section. Vincent never knew Cid wrote profanity as well as saying it every five minutes.

He suddenly realized how exhausted he was. He muscles were sore and he was very tired. As much as he hated it, he just wanted to sleep. Not caring if Cid thought he was self-conscious or even weird, he threw on his boxers and pants before crawling into bed.

Things apparently wouldn't let up for Vincent tonight.

He was woken up by Cid, screaming his name and shaking him out of his nightmare.

Yet again, Vincent found it hard to breathe, despite how fast he was gasping.

"Shit, I leave you alone for a while and you're shredding the bed," Cid said. Vincent could hear how worried he was. He looked down at the mattress as he sat up and realized it wasn't much of a joke. His stupid claw had torn rips in the mattress, the stuffing poking from it as if he had torn its guts out.

"Fuck!" Vincent said, throwing himself back on the bed, and buried his face in the pillow.

"What are you doing?" Cid yelled.

"You hate me now. You have to hate me now. I don't want to go back to sleep, I don't want to talk. I just want to lie here until I suffocate or Cloud says he needs me."

"Look, I don't hate you," Cid said, pulling Vincent up. "You'd have to burn the hotel down for me to start hating you. But no suffocating."

"Why don't you hate me?" Vincent asked, shoving Cid away. "Why the hell don't you hate me? I'm a freak. I turn into monsters and I just ripped the bed apart because I got scared."

"I've had worse dates than you. Hell, I was sober."

"It's not funny."

"Look, you just had a nightmare. Who cares?"

"Cid I always have nightmares. Why do you think Cloud always has to buy new tents?"

"Okay, look, stop blaming yourself for everything. It's not your fault someone's trying to destroy

the world. It's not your fault she died. It's not your fault your life went to hell. Stop thinking it is!"

"I'm sorry."

"And stop saying that."

Vincent was about to apologize again, but decided it was easier not to look at Cid. Why did he have to insist on cheering him up?

"Look, your life's been a pile of shit. You have a right to be scared. And I'm punching anyone who says otherwise. Well, not you."

"You're not going to insist I talk about it?"

"Fuck. You're scared, not a goddamned baby. Do what you want. You don't have to talk about it if you don't fucking want to. I'll listen if you do, though. I won't even tell anyone."

"Promise?"

"I promise. You can punch me in the face if I do."

"I don't want…" Vincent sighed. He couldn't hold it in anymore without crying. He might as well take advantage of the situation. If Cid insisted on doing anything he could for him, even after seeing him transform and suffer from a nightmare, he'd prove just to the pilot what he was in for. "There were needles in my arm. Six of them. I don't even know what was in the bags they were connected to. But they hurt. I could feel them. They were in my left arm and I could feel them!" Vincent had to stop and concentrate on breathing slower and not crying for a few minutes before he continued. "There was a tube in my chest. I couldn't feel my legs and my… my other arm was tied down so I couldn't rip the needles out. It was real. It really happened. It was thirty years ago, why can't I forget about it? All I could do was watch Hojo doing… something… and throw up on myself. Why is it so scary? Why does it keep coming back?"

Cid said nothing. He had no fucking idea what to do. Why couldn't Vincent just have a broken leg? He knew first aid. It didn't require talking. How come Vincent needed everything he sucked at?

"I can still feel it sometimes. My arm hurts and it isn't there anymore."

The was nothing to say.

Vincent rubbed his metal arm as if it were real, trying to stop the phantom pain.

Cid put a hand on Vincent's shoulder, over the brace that held his arm on. The brace made everything worse. Somehow, seeing buckles and straps holding Vincent's arm on made things worse. He had always thought the arm was just there, just an arm that looked a little different. He'd always thought of Vincent's arm being just as real as the rest of him. The straps though… Seeing some contraption to hold a limb on, that was distorting as hell. What it must be for Vincent, feeling and seeing it everyday, worried about the straps breaking, the buckles coming undone, hiding them from everyone.

Vincent jerked away, putting a hand over his shoulder to keep Cid from touching him. "Don't."

"Shit, I suck at this," Cid said.

"Just don't… Just don't touch my shoulder."

Cid smiled. He couldn't help it. Just don't touch the brace. Just don't remind him of it. Just don't make it real and he could try and pretend it wasn't there. He touched Vincent's right shoulder and gently slid his gloved hand down Vincent's arm and over his hand. He wrapped his fingers between Vincent's and held his hand. He pulled Vincent onto his lap and curled an arm around Vincent's chest, hoping Vincent didn't freak when he accidentally touched the scars.

"Cid?"

"It's okay, I won't do anything."

After a while, neither could really remember who started it, they were lying, side by side, Cid still insisting on holding Vincent's hands, even the metal one, and Vincent wasn't complaining.

"Cid?"

"Yeah?" Come on, just fucking say it. Please. Everything would be perfect after that, even if the world did blow up. Come on, I don't want to be the only one saying everything here.

"Thank you."

Ah, close enough.


	8. Chapter 8

Things were finally starting to be normal, well, for Cid, not Vincent. They were almost finished with Vincent's arm; it had turned out to be easier than they had initially thought, even with a total upgrade of circuitry. As a surprise, whether Vincent noticed it or not, Cid had bothered to replace all the buckles and one of the straps which had begun to fray. Tomorrow, Cid would fly in to Midgar, drop off cargo, pick up the last piece he needed, and Vincent would have his arm back, noon at the latest.

"Why this channel?" Cid complained. He was sitting on the couch, his feet on the coffee table next to some beer bottles and a mostly eaten pizza. The best part was that he was sharing it all with Vincent. He never imagined he'd get Vincent to relax like this, and never thought he'd get him to do so this fast.

"Because I have the remote," Vincent said. He was sprawled on the rest of the couch, his head in Cid's lap, enjoying how content something so simple could make him.

"This movie's thirty year old—oh, shit. I forgot. Sorry."

"No, I like it. It's nice that you can forget about it. It means I can too, for a while."

"So if I forgot you were wearing anything, you'd take your clothes off?"

"Shut up, Cid."

"You're smiling."

"So? Hey Cid, can you teach me how to do that?"

"Do what?"

"How to pretend things never happened and don't matter."

"I forgot how it works. Hey, can you get up so I can stretch my legs?"

"No, I'm enjoying this."

"You had better be."


	9. Chapter 9

Cid was woken up as someone slapped him on the head. "Ow? What?"

"It's noon, get up."

"Fine," Cid grumbled.

"So where'd Vincent go?"

"What do you mean where'd Vincent go?"

There was a pause that was heavier than Cid liked. Shera cleared her throat and suddenly had a very serious expression on her face. "Cid. The door's wide open."

"So shut it. What's that got to do with Vincent?"

"I was going to tell him I was mailing something for him. I looked everywhere. He's not here."

"Didja check the bathroom?"

"Cid, I've been up for three hours and haven't seen him all day."

"He probably went to get some fresh air. I'll bet it smells like a cheap bar in here."

"Cid, the gun's gone."


	10. Chapter 10

It was now a week since Vincent had disappeared. At first the fact that he had left his pack behind was encouraging, now the mystery of why it was still here was unnerving.

The Rocket Town Police had been contacted, but there were no leads.

"Getting a hangover isn't going to help," Shera scolded him.

"I don' care," Cid mumbled, his head on the table. "And keep it down."

"It's two in the morning."

"I don't fucking CARE."

Shera didn't bother trying to talk to Cid, but cleared the beer bottles off the table. She wanted to tell Cid not to smoke inside anymore. Or at least not so much. The smoke alarm had already gone off twice and she was worried about his increase in smoking.

Cid didn't care about how much he was smoking. He probably hadn't noticed how much more he was doing it. He didn't even notice Shera picking up the bottles, he was only aware of loud noises resembling glass hitting glass.

He had been preoccupied with going over a conversation he and Vincent had had the night Vincent arrived. The whole thing bugged him. This was either preplanned, or Vincent's worrying was well timed. He didn't want either to be true.

Vincent had agreed to go to bed, joking that he would only do so if Cid came with him. Cid had left the broken arm on the table and complied, partly because he was exhausted and didn't want to think about having failed Vincent, and partly because it always worried him when Vincent didn't sleep.

He had finally convinced Vincent to stop wearing his pants to bed, and smiled at the results.

Vincent, however, wasn't in the mood and killed that thought rather quickly with his brooding.

"You okay?" Cid had asked, crawling into bed. He adjusted the blanket over Vincent, trying to reassure him. God, asking him to take the arm off. He felt like such a bastard.

"I'm fine." Translation: 'Leave me alone, I want to sulk.'

Cid sighed. "Vince, can I ask you a question?" He meant to get his question about how much of Vincent's arm was real answered now, when they were lying just like this. But Vincent wasn't meant to be brooding, and he certainly wasn't meant to have busted his arm. And they were meant to be wearing a lot less. That was how it was supposed to be the first night after Vincent came back.

"Cid. You know I initially liked you because you never did ask questions."

"Look, I'm not going to start bugging you about your past. I promise I won't. I just want to ask you something."

"What if I don't want to answer?"

"Then don't. I don't care." Okay, that one was a lie. He'd care if it was too much for Vincent to answer this question. He'd be worried, although he wasn't sure he wouldn't be worried about it if he did get an answer. "Where were you? Where did you go?"

"You promise not to get mad?"

"Unless I get a call from the cops, sure."

"I was in Nibelheim."

'He says the word 'Mansion' and I'm gonna kill him,' Cid thought.

"I was kinda in the Shinra Mansion."

Cid slapped him forehead. "Holy fucking shit. Why?"

Vincent rolled over, put the pillow over his head and muttered something.

"Okay, I'd hate to think my hearing's going at my age, but could you say that three times louder and six times slower? And let's try it without the pillow."

"You're going to get mad," Vincent said as Cid took the pillow away.

"Why? What'd you do? Burn the thing down? Actually, that'd be kinda cool."

"I was worried… I went to get Hojo's notes on me."

"Why? You spent all this time trying to forget what he did."

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad, I'm confused. And loud. Now why the hell did you spend months getting notes from some dead git?"

"Cid, I'm worried about getting hurt. I mean, if I get hurt. I know it sounds stupid after we killed Sephiroth together, but I'm worried about something happening to me. What if something happens and I wind up in the hospital?"

"That's what insurance is for."

"Cid, there could be wires in my brain and I don't know it. I had to get those notes. I have no fucking clue what'll happen to me if I'm in the hospital and… and… and what if someone screws up, thinking I'm normal? I'm completely fucked up, and if someone's going to put me back together again, they need to know how fucked up I am."

"Vince…" Why bother convincing him NOW that that was such a stupid idea? Besides, maybe Vincent was right. He may be perfectly fine, even sexy as hell on the outside, but if there was something in him that let him transform into Chaos, Cid wasn't going to make the argument. "As long as you're okay."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as long as it made you feel better. I've constantly goofed around with the engine just to cheer myself up when she didn't need anything."

"Cid, why aren't you mad?"

"Whatever gets you back here is fine. Hell, you can go snowboarding for all I care as long as you won't leave now that you're back. I mean, you aren't right?"

"Of course I'm not," Vincent said, taking his pillow back and settling down.

"Promise?"

"Cid, go to sleep."

"Fine."

"Of course I promise."

Vincent didn't really get to sleep for a while after that. It didn't matter. He was back.

He had been back. He had promised not to go anywhere and now he was gone, practically disappeared into thin air along with his gun.

What did he do? Hadn't Vincent enjoyed himself here? Where else did Vincent have to go?

The phone rang, far too loudly than Cid would have liked it to when he had a hangover.

He checked the clock before answering. Four eleven. Good, that meant he could still complain.

"Hi'nd 'liv'ry shervish. Can I fucking help you?"

"Is this Cid Highwind?"

"Who the fuck else would this be?"

"Sir, this is the Rocket Town Hospital. We're contacting you about a Vincent Valentine."

"Holy shit!" Cid yelled, managing to wake up Shera for a few seconds.

Cid bolted out the door, forgetting to hang up.

"Hello? Hello?"


End file.
